She's Odd
by ronniekins77
Summary: Neville thinks about the Department of Mysteries and his friends when he gets an unexpected visitor. Takes place after the events of OotP.


It was a dark night; the only feeble light came from dimmed streetlamps, a small grey moon, and the usual dull, lifeless stars. Shadows crept across the walls of Neville Longbottom's bedroom and the only sound was of crickets chirping, though even they seemed quiet tonight.

Normally, Neville would be sound asleep under such desirable conditions, or perhaps not so soundly, as he had the tendency to snore. It was half past two in the morning, and yet he was wide awake. He was a rather boring sight - he lay with his sheets abandoned, his arms folded over his chest, and his eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

This wasn't at all an unordinary thing for him to be doing, for Neville had been lying this way at night for about two weeks. He was not, as his grandmother said, depressed, or anything of the sort. He was merely contemplative. The night at the Department of Mysteries had affected Neville greatly and he was not ashamed to admit it.

It had certainly made him stronger, more confident. He, the forgetful boy who was horrible in every subject save Herbology, and who was constantly reminded he would never live up the man his father was, had managed to fight Death Eaters and come out of it alive. At first, when he had woken up in the hospital wing, he thought there had been some mistake. He must have died and become a ghost - but no, his hands were solid! He had _lived_. Not many fifteen year old wizards could say that, could they?

But with his confidence, there came something else. Sadness. He was mainly sad for Harry Potter, his friend. Everything always seemed to happen to Harry, didn't it? Neville had always been in awe of him, like when he became the youngest Seeker in a century to join the Quidditch team; he'd been jealous of him, too, whenever he got special attention. But Neville was neither of those things anymore.

Neville didn't want to have to escape from danger and have You-Know-Who always haunting his days. He didn't want to have the weight of the wizarding world on his shoulders; didn't want to be remembered for surviving on the day that his parents died. No, he didn't envy Harry at all.

At the thought of parents, a lump rose in Neville's throat and his eyes instantly darted to his closet. Inside of that closet was where he kept a box full of Drooble's Best Bubble Gum wrappers. Closing his eyes, he tried not to envision a middle aged woman pressing the pink paper into his hand, unaware that he was her son.

His thoughts instead drifted to a woman who had heavy lidded eyes, a sour smirk, and a high pitched laugh that made his blood boil. He could still feel his bones laced with fire, his muscles squeezing, his heart slowing, effects of the Cruciatus Curse she had given him not long ago. She was a woman enjoyed torture, and she had surely worn a smile upon her face the day she nearly killed Neville's parents.

Anger churned in the pit of his stomach as her nasal voice rang through his ears. He would pay her back somehow, someday. Before all this was over, he would make her regret the day she ever lifted her wand as a weapon. By the time this war was over, Bellatrix Lestrange would be no more.

For indeed, a war had started. It had started at the end of Neville's fourth year at Hogwarts, though he had been too oblivious and naive to realize it. But the Dark Lord had returned and had tried to kill Harry twice since. Neville knew this war was going to be tedious, but he also knew that in the end Harry would defeat him. Neville had made a firm decision after the Department of Mysteries that he would make any sacrifice and stop at nothing to help Harry and he knew that Harry's other friends would do the same.

Hermione Granger, with her cleverness and fretful, mothering affection towards Harry, would be there for him. Hermione, the girl who was always willing to help Neville with his homework.

Ron Weasley, with his loyalty and ability to put a smile on Harry's face, would be there for him. Ron, who had once told Neville that he needed to stand up for himself.

Ginny Weasley, the fun loving, sentimental girl who had always been silent in her devotion to Harry, would be there for him. Ginny, who had gone with Neville to the Yule Ball when no one else would. She would be Harry's right hand, and her love would keep him safe, though he had yet to figure it out.

And Luna Lovegood would also be there for Harry. Weird as she was, she connected with Harry in a way that no one else could. Perhaps it was because they had both witnessed death. Perhaps it was because she was so unknowingly intuitive that she just _got_ him.

Oh, Luna. It was an odd name, really, but she was a little odd herself. To be honest, she was the oddest person Neville had ever met -

A loud tapping noise disturbed his thoughts. He slowly turned his head to the window, where the tapping seemed to be coming from. There was a figure outside! And the figure had now managed to open his window!

The figure climbed in through the window, the outline of a broomstick in their hands. Neville squinted through the darkness and the stars outside finally provided the light he needed to identify who it was.

"Hello there," said the figure, and Neville's mouth dropped open in surpise.

"Luna!" he exclaimed, sitting up in bed. "What are you doing here?"

She didn't respond, but simply glanced around, as if she hadn't even heard him speak. In fact, he wasn't even sure Luna knew where she was. _My, she was an odd one._

"My dad and I found a Crumple Horned Snorkack," she said after several seconds of silence. "I thought you should be the first one to know."

Neville blinked. "Do you know what time it is?"

"It's almost three o' clock, according to your alarm clock," she responded.

"B-but," he said, utterly confused as to _why_ she was paying him a visit at almost three o' clock in the morning, "you're in my room!"

Luna nodded solemnly. "It is rather dull, you know," she informed him, looking about it once again. Neville followed her gaze to the old dresser, the closet, the many plants strewn about, the bookshelf in the corner...

"I suppose it is," he muttered, noting that besides furniture and plants, there really wasn't anything else in it.

Luna set her broomstick against the wall and titled her head slightly to the side, studying Neville intently. He felt uncomfortable and nervous being stared at so openly like this and was suddenly aware of the fact that he was only wearing his blue striped pajama pants. He had tossed off his shirt almost the second he had toppled into bed because of the humid weather.

"You know what we should do, Neville?" Luna asked with a smile. Neville didn't answer, but pulled his bedsheets around his naked chest. She walked nearer to his bed and Neville blushed at the thoughts that began to swim through his mind. He was a teenaged boy, after all, and there was a girl - _Luna_ - with him in the darkness.

"What?" he asked her.

"Decorate it, of course," she replied, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"The room?" he said. "Decorate it with what? There's nothing to decorate it with."

"Okay," said Luna, her face falling a bit as she took a seat at the foot of his bed. Neville pulled his legs away so that she wouldn't sit on them and looked over at his pajama shirt lying on the floor. He stared at Luna, waiting for her to say something else. Her eyes were on the ceiling now, and Neville quickly leaned over in bed and picked his shirt off the floor.

Just as he pulled it over his shoulders, Luna spoke. "Have you been thinking about what happened in the Department of Mysteries?" she asked, her voice soft and whispery.

And suddenly, Bellatrix Lestrange was back in his in mind, laughing at him. His nose suddenly felt sore where it had been broken. He remembered bright, sharp spells whizzing past his ears, screams of pain, the panting breaths of his peers struggling to maintain their strength in a duel...

Neville's eyes burned with tears and he willed himself not to start blubbering. _Not in front of Luna._ His father wouldn't have cried. He let out a shaky breath, and then realized that his hand was tingling. Neville looked down at Luna's hand on his own and then raised his head to meet her kind stare.

"You've been through a lot, Neville," she said, eyes locked on his. Neville swallowed hard at the look in her eyes because for once, they were not glassy and dreamy, but piercing and convincing. He felt as if she could see right through him. "I have, too. But we'll get through it, you know. You're not alone. And Harry's not alone, either. Love will get him through all of this and love will get you through this, too."

And then, she had leaned forward and touched her mouth to his. Before he could register his surprise, Luna's lips were moving across his. Neville brought a hand up to touch her face, trembling all the while. She responded by lifting one of her own hands to playfully twist his hair, not taking her mouth from his.

It was over far too quickly. Luna pulled away from him and Neville leaned against his pillows, his eyes closed as he reveled in it all.

Her lips had been slightly chapped and she had tasted of biscuits and strawberries and, well, it had been the nicest thing Neville could ever have imagined.

Hundreds of things rushed through his mind. He had just kissed Luna! Luna! She had been a good friend of his, and they had kissed! Was she now his girlfriend? Is that why she had flown here on a broomstick? To kiss him? Would she let him kiss her again?

"I have to go now," said Luna matter-of-factly, standing up and retrieving her broomstick. "My father doesn't know I'm here and if he did, he'd have a heart attack."

"Oh." Neville sat up and was not successful in hiding the disappointment from his face.

"But you should know," she added with a small smile, "that you're a very good kisser, Neville Longbottom."

He grinned at the compliment as Luna opened the window. "I'll see you at Hogwarts!" she said cheerily, and before he could respond, she had flown away.

Neville leaned back against the pillows once more and was soon fighting to stay awake, so focused was he on thoughts of Luna.

His last thought, before a peaceful slumber overtook him, was that Luna Lovegood was definitely an odd one, alright. And that was fine with him.

But she'd be the one to help him through this war, she was the one he _needed_ to help him through this war, and that was fine with him, too.


End file.
